Sleep-writing

It was 0230 and something had woken me. Like a hypnic jerk, I was shaken bodily from sweet oblivion, rising to the surface like a bucket from a well. It wasn't thrashing rain against my window or someone clattering past my door on the way to the bathroom, it was a paragraph of words hurling… Continue reading Sleep-writing

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A perfect minute.

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It actually felt like the first flush of summer for a perfect minute this morning. Dry-skinned and clammy-palmed from efficient all-night heating, I guiltily opened my window. Breezeless, the unseasonably mild air flooded over me. The countryside said “good morning” with lazily cooing pigeons and idly tittering blue tits, with the soft scent of lush… Continue reading A perfect minute.